The Thing He Likes Best
Maybe it was because he didn't care for drink. Hideo stayed with us the whole time—he'd come to see me, after all. At first he only asked how I'd been. Lately the talk had turned to what projects I was preparing.
The moment work came up, my energy climbed. Right there, I pitched a marketing idea.
"When Orlando eats a star, his whole body sparkles, right? What if the Luy Vuitton mark surfaced on his clothes right then?"
A fifteen-second television spot could show as much of that as we liked.
"Slipping a bonus card into the package could be fun, too."
"You mean Super Orlando dressed in Luy Vuitton?"
"Yes."
"Well... there was the Capsulemon × Luy Vuitton collaboration, so..."
Hideo had just drawn out his notebook and begun writing the conversation down when a booming voice rolled in from far off.
"Piiizza's ready!"
Honestly, I had forgotten clean that he'd even gone off to make pizza. Ahem.
Devon and Steve came bearing two enormous pies apiece. From what I heard, they had baked more than ten and salvaged exactly four.
"They'll still taste good, though."
Devon looked thoroughly confident, the face of a man who had, frankly, hurled in every good thing he owned. Fair enough. And yet, because Teacher had made them, perhaps I simply couldn't bring myself to expect much.
That reaction lasted only a moment.
"The. Pizza. Is. Getting. Cold."
The instant killing intent entered his voice, Tennessee snapped to and hurried over.
Oho. Better-looking than I'd expected?
Surprise must have shown on my face.
"No need to admire it. Just eat."
Devon fired the answer back hot. One slice was the size of a forearm. I lifted it in both hands, and the cheese came stretching after, and it certainly looked good enough to eat. The moment I took an enormous bite—
"...?"
What... what was this?
"This is good?"
I wasn't the only one.
"Huh?"
Even Tennessee, who almost never blinked at food, had both eyes wide.
"Age the dough and the cheese and it's better. We threw this together in a rush, so it'll fall a little short. Just eat it however."
He told us to eat it however—and then went right on explaining how he'd made the tomato sauce, and how he'd set the ratio of meat to vegetables. At first I thought I was only hungry after all that time in the water. The more I ate, the more certain I became that this was the real thing.
No, seriously, why is this delicious?
The surprise didn't stop there. The bread stuck to the rim of a pizza is, as a rule, hard and bland. But this—
Chewy!
Huh?
And that wasn't all. The moment I bit in, cheese that had been hiding like red-bean filling in a bun peeked out into the open.
This is... a cheese crust.
In this era—how?
In that instant my eyes met Devon's.
"So you tasted it."
A grave look came over him all at once.
"I wanted a pizza delicious in every particular, from the first thing to the last."
Why, of all times, had he started talking like a martial-arts novel?
"I proposed to the owner of Mama Jones that we put cheese in the crust. He refused me, cold as a blade."
"..."
"And so I resolved to keep this idea for my pizza alone. I did burn through a few pies, gauging the time for topping and dough to cook as one, but..."
"It's delicious."
"I know. I ate some myself."
Astonishing confidence!
"Well? I could take money for this, couldn't I?"
"Yes. I'd eat it."
"Okay. A business genius has signed off, so now we go at it hot."
Suddenly I was a genius. Well, since I'd been called one anyway... why not try being a little cold-eyed about it?
"It's delicious. Open a shop and it'll sell well enough. However."
"...?"
"Please start by calculating ingredient costs, store rent, the interior, the equipment, and wages. And if it's going to be a franchise, the menu prices at the London shop and the Edinburgh shop have to match, don't they?"
Incomes and prices differ everywhere, and still the pizza has to cost the same. In other words, setting a price most people can accept is a skill in itself!
"Why is there... so much to do?"
"If it can compete with the shops around it, I'll move the business ahead at once."
Only then did Devon turn to Steve beside him.
"You heard that?"
"...Yes?"
"You go to Cambridge. You're smart."
"Teacher, you went to Stanford."
"And what did I do there besides rugby?"
"I'm exactly the same, though?"
All at once, two students from elite universities were doing an idiot act. At times like that, the only move is to slip away until someone sorts out the traffic. I asked one of the cruise staff to put on music.
"Would classical be all right?"
"No. Electronic would be better."
Tennessee must have heard. He turned toward me in surprise.
"You have Herbie Hancock's Rockit, don't you?"
"We've stocked a fair number of records, but..."
"It sold a great many copies. They'll probably have it."
A moment later, elegant electronic music flowed from the big speakers set up on the deck. Tennessee pretended not to care.
"..."
His ears, however, were pricked straight up.
I couldn't have told you how the day went. Business ideas kept surfacing in between.
Making money isn't a crime.
In the end I simply let it be. Thinking, after all, cost me nothing. Whenever something came to me, I developed it in a hurry and stored it away in my head.
Anyway, guests arrived the next day as well, and the party grew richer for it. Oh—Olivia? She had come with her father, Ralph Warren.
"Why didn't you invite me?"
"Weren't you off to America?"
"I heard there was a party and turned the plane right around!"
What was a seventeen-year-old girl doing with a line like some department chief... The joke was old. Her instincts were anything but.
"This isn't a bar," Olivia said. "Why would we be taking requests?"
Thanks to her bringing in a first-rate DJ—
Bam! Ba-ba-ba-bam!
I got to listen to the city pop I loved, all the way through. The selections were excellent, and so was the sense to let one song run into the next like water. I hadn't known.
A party really does need a DJ.
After that, the guests kept coming. Yang Eokgwan, who managed my money, joined, and then the writers of D-Que and Capsulemon, one after another. I hadn't meant for it to happen. My people (?), scattered to every corner, gathered in one place and made one another's acquaintance!
Just watching is enough to fill me up.
And so, as the party that had run two nights and three days drew to a close, I suggested a group photograph, of all things. Ordinarily I can't stand that sort of thing. Perhaps it was because everyone I liked was gathered there. Without my noticing, my heart had gone soft and warm.
"Taking it!"
Click.
We left that single picture behind. I said my goodbyes, and I was just about to board the helicopter in high spirits when—
"Boss."
It was Jo Sudeok.
"Shall we go straight to Korea?"
He went on with a rather serious face.
"There's something I heard from an informant."
"...?"
"I'm told every executive has been summoned to match the day of your arrival."
Hm. I knew what kind of man Grandfather was. I had already guessed he would not let this pass so easily. Even so... what was he scheming, from the very first day I came home?
"From what I hear, it's a presentation of Hyeon-gang's new engine..."
"And that engine is me?"
"Wouldn't it have to be?"
"..."
"My guess is that he will never give up the automobile business."
At his age he was hardly going to oversee the car business himself. Which meant, in the end, that he meant to hand it to me?
"You ought to go with some preparation of your own..."
"Preparing won't change a thing."
"Sir?"
"He's the man sitting a whole head above me."
However much I prepared, he would already have thought of the move that smashed it.
"I'm just going to think about a gift."
"A gift... sir?"
"It's been a long time since I've gone back. I want to give Grandfather the thing he likes best."
"What do you mean by that?"
Instead of answering, I gave him a small smile.
At that same hour, in Korea, Song Suhee was already deep in preparing the meal. Her son would not arrive until tomorrow. He would be called into the executive meeting besides, so he would likely turn up around evening—but still she bustled in and out of the kitchen. She was setting a table for a son studying abroad, for the first time in half a year.
Every delicacy of mountain and sea! A mother's heart wants to make him anything delicious. Dad—Park Jongin—seemed to see it a little differently.
"You could do it tomorrow. Why put yourself through it starting the day before?"
"You have to let it sit ahead of time. That's how the seasoning soaks in."
"Even so, we could just eat something easy..."
"Dear? Flavor needs care put into it."
"I only... don't want you wearing yourself out."
"What's hard about cooking for our son?"
"..."
"Don't just talk. Help a little, then."
"What am I supposed to do?"
When the kitchen maid hurried over in surprise, Park Jongin smiled.
"You heard her? Cooking for our son isn't hard, she says."
"Even so..."
"It's fine. It's one meal. What's the fuss."
From then on, Park Jongin was shut in the kitchen.
Knead, knead. He was making grilled short-rib patties, gathering the meat in his hands—and why on earth was he making so much? The moment he thought he had finally finished, Song Suhee produced dumpling wrappers.
"You know Jihun likes dumpling soup."
"I like dumpling soup too..."
"So hurry up and make them."
Just imagining their boy eating happily, he felt as if he owned the whole world. That much was true. Separate from that, though... why did his back hurt this much? Perhaps from keeping his head down. His neck was a little—ahem.
"How many days is Jihun staying?"
"Why?"
"No, I mean. We're not going to feed him like this every day, are we?"
"Tired already?"
"Th-that's not it. I just don't want my beloved wife worn out."
"Worn out? I'll have a considerate husband helping me every day."
"Right... of course... of course I will."
For the time being, Park Jongin resolved, the family would be eating out more often.
Thanks to Chairman Henri Vuitton's consideration, I was flying to Korea aboard a private jet. Once I made money... should a private jet be the first thing I bought?
No.
Maybe I already had money enough.
Come on. How often do I even fly? Wasteful. Wasteful.
That was what I told myself. Even so, with everything prepared for me alone, it certainly felt comfortable. More than that, this wasn't even a matter of reclining the seat. They had gone so far—crudely, even—as to bring in an actual mattress!
And that wasn't the end of it. As you'd expect of Henri Vuitton's airplane, the Luy Vuitton mark was embroidered over every inch of the place. Hm. Being able to furnish the interior however one liked... that was certainly nice.
Come to think of it, isn't this nothing but good things?
There wasn't a single reason not to buy—
Jihun. You've been spending an awful lot of money lately.
Above all! Grandfather was not a man to be satisfied with an ordinary gift.
If I'm going to prepare something proper, isn't it about time I tightened my belt?
Right. At least until this situation (?) was cleaned up, austerity for a while. I looked out the window as if to set that resolve in place, and for a long moment there was nothing. Then the sight of Seoul, a city I had spent so long forgetting, began slowly to unfold before my eyes.